Miss Behave

by Wylde, Tara

  Something to look forward to .

  8

  D iana

  James wasn’t kidding about everything coming at us fast. Not sure I’ve slept since our trip to Bird Kingdom. I’ve tasted so many cakes I’m starting to hate buttercream, done a bridal shoot for some magazine whose name I never caught, held my breath while an ancient seamstress stuck pins in my bodice, and I’m still not sure who the guests are going to be. Kate’s coming, and James’s friend Tom, who doesn’t seem to like me—but whose asses are going to fill the rest of those two hundred seats, I can’t imagine .

  I’ve barely seen James himself: he said something Friday night about meeting with the caterer, and since then, it’s been glimpses across bustling rooms, brush-bys in hallways, and one awkward conversation outside a church bathroom, while we waited for the priest to come out .

  And now it’s just me and Kate in a chilly little room, trying to sit perfectly still so we don’t mess up our hair. It’s harder than it sounds: those ringlets that looked so gorgeous in the lookbook are tickling the hell out of my cheeks, and the combs holding the orchids along my brow are digging into my scalp. I just want to shake it all out, send pearls flying everywhere—and kick off these shoes, while I’m at it. Who’d have thought satin slippers could pinch this bad ?

  “You don’t have to do this, you know .”

  I look at Kate in the mirror, so I don’t have to turn my head. “I know .”

  “I mean, I was just kidding, when you called—about changing your marriage like a mattress, and all. If this isn’t what you want ....”

  I wish I could peel off my glove, look at that ring, let the winking opals remind me of that perfect moment under the palms. But it’s buttoned to the elbow, tight as a second skin. James is probably at the altar already, waiting expectantly, in front of...whoever .

  I can’t let him down .

  “I’m doing this.” I can only dare a tiny smile, for fear of cracking the makeup that took an hour and a half to apply, but Kate seems to relax .

  “Well, if you do change your mind, just, I don’t know—make a face at me. We’ll go running down the aisle like a couple of vagabonds, take our own little girl-trip round Europe .”

  “Uh-huh....” The music’s starting. I can hear shuffling feet, a whole lot of them. “Just get me down that aisle without tripping.” I’ve only had one chance to practice walking in this dress, with its layers and layers of petticoats and sweeping train. And I’m supposed to dance in it later ?

  “You’ll be fine .”

  There’s a knock at the door: an usher I don’t recognize. “Are we ready ?”

  Kate and I exchange glances. I nod. “Lead the way .”

  Somehow, the church is full. I recognize the lawyer from the signing, and a couple of people who were drifting around Dovecote, but the rest of them...paid seatwarmers? Co-workers? The flower girl looks like a child model, strutting down the aisle like it’s a runway, scattering white petals in my path .

  Kate unpins the veil, and it tumbles over my face. Everything goes distant, hazy—this must be the real reason brides wear veils. So they can’t see their lives changing, everyone looking on ....

  I take a deep breath and start to walk. The aisle feels both a thousand miles long and far, far too short. Maybe I should turn back ....

  But James is beaming down at me. Even through the veil, I can tell it’s a real smile, eye-crinkles and all. I take another step, and another, and soon, we’re clasping hands. He doesn’t let go of me once, doesn’t break eye contact, as we repeat our vows. I let everything else fall away: the chill of the church, the pinch of my corset, the questionable crowd. This is a performance, but what comes next could be real .

  The kiss certainly feels like the genuine article, the way he lifts my veil so carefully, cups my face in his palms as his lips brush mine. He doesn’t linger, but a thrill ripples through me all the same .

  I don’t want the moment to end—it’s the first one in days that hasn’t felt like a dream—but next thing I know, we’re ducking confetti and flashbulbs as we race for the car. To add to the sense of unreality, we don’t even drive off right away. Once the videographer’s caught our mad dash for the back seat, we get back out for photos—dozens and dozens of them, some by ourselves, some with the guests. We pose on the steps of the church, leaning against the car, raising our hands to catch confetti and streamers. James helps me out of my gloves, so one of the photographers can get a picture of our twined hands, with the rings .

  It only ends when he sweeps me into his arms and carries me back to the car, shouting something I can’t hear over the shutters—But whatever the pretext, I’m glad to get out of there .

  I’m even more relieved to see his shellshocked face in the car. He’s shaking his head, laughing. “What the hell was that ?”

  “I don’t know—You arranged it !”

  “No, I didn’t!” He rakes his hand through his hair. “Tom said there’d be photos, some kind of press, uh...whatever—But that was ridiculous !”

  “No shit! Who were all those people?” I’m laughing too, now, despite the corset squeezing the breath out of me .

  “I have no idea!” He tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “I mean, the first couple of rows, they were from work—and the flower girl, that was Tom’s kid. But the rest of them...shareholders? Press? Your guess is as good as mine .”

  “Oh, my God! And they’re all going to be at the reception ?”

  “Every last one of ‘em.” James lets his head flop on my shoulder. “I am so tired—are you tired? Have you slept ?”

  I shake my head. “Not in recent memory .”

  “Ugh... I could sleep a week. In fact, let’s do that. Let’s—let’s blow off our honeymoon, go into hibernation. Rest of the winter should do me just fine .”

  “Sounds blissful....” I let my eyelids droop. Sleep does sound good. The adrenaline of the ceremony’s starting to wear off, and James is a warm weight against my side. It’d be so easy to drift off, push the world away ....

  “Mm... We can’t.” James unfolds himself with a groan. “Let’s get some coffee—hey!” He knocks on the privacy screen, and the driver tilts his head. “Could you stop by a Starbucks, grab us some espressos ?”

  I don’t want coffee—I want blankets and pillows, fuzzy pajamas, a slow heartbeat next to mine—but it’s not meant to be. We barely finish our espressos in time to spill out into another round of photos, a meal I barely taste, a first dance under glittering golden stars, hung from the ceiling on invisible strings. We’re congratulated a hundred times, and I dance with what must be the entire board of Dovecote, one after another. By the time I sit down, I can’t feel my feet .

  James nudges me under the table. “Just the bouquet toss, and then...sweet escape !”

  “Where are we going?” I realize we never talked about this—where we’re going to live, what we’re going to do .

  “On our honeymoon.” He winks .

  “Wait—we’re actually having a honeymoon ?”

  “You did get the week off work, right ?”

  I nod, stunned. I thought that was, I don’t know—so I could settle into my new life. Didn’t think we’d be jetting off somewhere... Then again, it makes sense. All today’s theatrics have been about one thing: making this look good. Making it respectable. Of course we’re having a honeymoon. “ Where — ?”

  “San Gimignano. Figured we could use the quiet after this .”

  A silly thought occurs to me. “Your dog’s going to bite you .”

  “What?”

  “You said he gets mad when you leave him alone overnight. A whole honeymoon—he’s going to bite you .”

  “Nah... I’ll bring him some jerky. He’ll forgive me.” James yawns. He’s cute when he’s tired, all loose and cuddly. Keeps leaning against me, nuzzling up on my neck. His accent seems thicker as well, like even his tongue’s having a hard time staying upright .

  I try to aim the bouque
t Kate’s way when it comes time for the toss, but some old lady darts out from nowhere and carries it off .

  “That’s my aunt,” James says. “Wanted to introduce you two, earlier, but... All these people keep getting in the way !”

  “She’s not married yet ?”

  “She’s a widow .”

  “Mm... Maybe she’ll meet someone here .”

  Every moment seems more surreal than the last. I’ve reached that stage of exhaustion where everything’s dazzlingly bright, and I’m starting to see things at the edges of my vision, floating sparks, darting shadows. I let James lead me to the car for one last round of photos, a long wave goodbye, and then it’s over .

  We don’t even try to stay awake for the ride to the airport. Last thing I’m aware of is collapsing in a companionable heap, his head in my lap, my hair falling wild .

  I can think of worse endings to a wedding day .

  9

  J ames

  I come to my senses somewhere over the Atlantic. There’s a faint pressure behind my eyeballs, portending an oncoming headache. I rub my eyes till it starts to recede: this is the last thing I need .

  Diana’s still sleeping like an angel, hair fanned out on the pillow, a couple of stubborn petals clinging to her brow. She slipped out of her wedding dress as soon as the seat belt light went off, but I’m not sure she meant me to see her like this, laid out in nothing but her slip, one stocking rolled down to the knee. But the sheet slid off when I got up, and I’m afraid trying to tuck her back in might disturb her .

  I suppose I’ll be seeing her in less, soon enough. Still, the idea of reaching out and touching her, following the seam of her stocking up the back of her thigh, seems more fantasy than possibility .

  It’s been three days—no, four now—since my “proposal” under the palms. It’s weird, but I’m tempted to keep that sweet, shy courtship going, even now that we’re married. It’d be a first for me: a leisurely seduction, in place of the usual rocket sled from Friday’s first kiss to Sunday’s walk of shame. I toy with the idea of hand-holding, lingering glances, soft caresses over silk; something almost...Arthurian, from an age of knights and damsels. Gotta admit, it’s got a certain allure .

  Then again, so does pinning her to the wall and making her mine .

  Diana opens her eyes. If she’s offended by my staring, she doesn’t show it. She stretches and sighs. “Mm... Time’s it ?”

  I check my watch. “Four in the morning, back home. That’d be, uh, ten AM where we’re headed .”

  “Still early....” She tugs at my sleeve. “C’mon. Spoon me back to sleep .”

  “I, uh....” This is awkward. “Gimme a second .”

  She glances over her shoulder, taking in my sheepish grin, my obvious erection. I half-expect her to grab a pillow and beat me right out the emergency exit, but all I get is an eyeroll. “Eh, it’s not like we’re naked. Just... C’mon. It’s freezing. Get down here, and bring that blanket .”

  Can’t argue with that. It is cold at forty thousand feet. And she’s the perfect height for spooning. I sigh with contentment as her head snugs in under my chin, and her feet find their way between mine. She doesn’t even complain when I warm my icy hands on her belly .

  “Nice and toasty....” I’m pleasantly drowsy, but sleep’s still a ways off. “Still awake ?”

  She nods. Her hair tickles my nose .

  “So... Okay, this’ll sound creepy, unromantic as hell, but my curiosity’s killing me here. There was something in your background check ....”

  “If you’re talking about the farmer, that was an accident. We didn’t even know where the sunroof went, till the next day .”

  The...what? “Uh, no—that wasn’t it, but now I gotta hear about this sunroof.” I nuzzle at the top of her head in a way I hope is reassuring. Don’t want her feeling...interrogated .

  “Mm, prom night....” She huffs through her nose. “It was... Well, a lot of plans fell apart last minute, so I ended up going with my neighbor and his friends, and these girls from, uh, Wainfleet, I think. It was like, six or seven of us crammed into this matchbox of a car, and... Oh, God! You don’t want to hear this !”

  “Uh-uh, no way—Can’t tease me like that.” I nudge her with my big toe. “You owe me an ending .”

  “Well, all right—About three miles from the school, someone, uh.... Passed gas. None of the windows would open, so I went for the sunroof—but it slid maybe half an inch, and... cck . ”

  “Oh, no !”

  “So we were pounding on it, all of us, beating it with our fists, our shoes, whatever we could grab hold of, and then it just...popped its moorings. Sailed off into the night .”

  “Oh, God—it beheaded someone! Flying guillotine !”

  “What? No!” Diana shakes with laughter. She jabs an elbow in the general direction of my ribs, but her angle sucks, and she jostles thin air. “It landed in a farmer’s field. Ruined his, uh...hay...threshing...thing. Or something. But, I mean, we looked for it, did our due diligence. Showed up at prom with this perfect fade from white to green along the hem of my skirt, from wading through all that grass .”

  “Still better than mine,” I confess. “Got drunk for the first time, lost my shoes and my dinner, and my date went home with my best friend .”

  “Ouch.” She tilts her head, like she’s trying to look back at me. “What were you going to ask, if not about the sunroof ?”

  “Oh, just... You’re six credits shy of a physics degree ?”

  “Oh, that.” She relaxes in my arms. “Mm-hm. Going to finish some day .”

  “Why didn’t you ?”

  “Mm, y’know...tired of trying to wrap my head around the infinite.” She yawns. “Also, too many nerds .”

  I chuckle. My eyelids are drooping again, and I can tell by the way her body sags against mine, she’s drifting herself. I’ll get a real answer out of her some other time. In the meantime, my head’s starting to pound. I burrow my face into her neck for comfort, and let myself drift into oblivion .

  The next time I break the surface of sleep, we’re coming in for our final descent over Florence, and my headache’s a living presence behind my eyes. It’s like my body’s gotten so used to that weekly hangover, it’s giving me one free of charge .

  Diana’s sneaked out of my embrace in the night. She’s dressed and groomed and perfect, a quarter of the way into the paperback she picked up. Must’ve been up a while. Maybe she never went back to sleep at all .

  She looks my way when I start to stir. “You all right ?”

  I nod. Bad idea: bobbing the sore head doesn’t help .

  “You sure? You look kind of pale .”

  “Just a headache.” I wriggle into my pants and pat the pockets. Empty. “Don’t suppose you got an aspirin ?”

  “In my purse—Where’d I—?” She fishes around under her seat. “Shit. I just had it .”

  I pour myself into the seat next to her and fumble for my seat belt. My foot bumps against something soft and purse-shaped. I reach for it, moving my head as little as possible. “Here you go .”

  “Thanks.” She fishes out one of those travel-sized aspirin packets and flips it my way. “Need some water ?”

  “Nah....” I dry-swallow the pills and drop my head on her shoulder. “Ugh...hurts .”

  “You’re all right.” Her hand cups my forehead, then the back of my neck. “No fever. Probably be fine once we land .”

  She’s sweet, but she’s wrong: by the time we touch down, my head’s throbbing like a giant abscess, and I feel like I could puke. And the bumpy Italian roads are pure punishment. Wish Diana was driving: she’s got this way of gliding over the road, no sudden stops, no queasy swerving. Still, having her in the back with me isn’t the worst. Any other time, I’d be loving the attention, the way she’s massaging the back of my neck, feeding me sips of water .

  The car jounces over what’s gotta be a dead body in the road, or at least a decent-sized tortoise. I groan and clu
tch at my temples .

  “Here—you’re going to hurt yourself.” She folds my hands together and holds them tight. “There’s another bump in three... two — ”

  I brace myself, but this one’s not as bad: more teeth-rattling than bone-jarring .

  “There’s the gate up ahead.” Her thumb brushes across my knuckles, soft and soothing. “No cars allowed past here—think you can make it to the hotel ?”

  No idea. I manage a noncommittal grunt .

  “Hang on. A few more minutes, we’ll get you all fixed up .”

  Don’t know what she’s planning to do, how she means to fix me, but somehow, I believe her. I concentrate on standing up straight and keeping my stomach out of my throat while she leads the way up the hill. Who thought it’d be a good idea to put cobblestones where people have to walk? I keep stumbling, turning my ankle—can’t keep my eyes open, to look where I’m going .

  I’m not sure how we make it to the hotel, but pretty soon I’m standing uselessly by, while Diana checks us in .

  “Not....” I gulp and wince, as the ancient elevator jerks to life. “Not the best start to our honeymoon .”

  “Aw, ssh.” Diana grabs my suitcase before it can fall on my foot. “I count our honeymoon from the second we stepped on that plane. First ride on a private jet, falling asleep in your arms—twice!—I’d say that’s a decent start .”

  “Still. Sorry....” She’s got our suitcases, both our suitcases, but it’s all I can do to trail after her all the way to our room .

  “Sit here.” She nudges me to the edge of the bed. “Don’t go to sleep, though. Going to draw you a bath .”

  I struggle to do as I’m told, but it’s so warm, so quiet. My chin keeps dipping to my chest. The splashing of water turns to the chatter of the boardroom, the bustle of the hospital. Sean Nasmith follows me from room to room, dream to dream, showing me charts I can’t understand, contracts that make zero sense. Half-awake, I wonder what’s real—did I get married? Did I get fired? Am I coming out of the fog of some epic bender, even now ?